


Band Together, Party Forever

by luchia



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: AO3 YOU ARE A WORLD OF WONDERS, Alternate Universe - Birds, Gen, THERE'S AN ACTUAL TAG FOR THAT?!, magic animal bonds, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-02 23:15:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4077496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luchia/pseuds/luchia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But it's a chirp, a <i>caw</i>, and a bird fluttering its way towards him, and Montparnasse hears a voice in his head say, <i>You help me, and I'll help you.</i></p>
<p>(A group of blue jays is called either a band or a party.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Band Together, Party Forever

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the [Les Mis Reverse Bang](http://lesmiserablesreversebang.tumblr.com/)! I had the privilege of working with Miryhis' fabulous piece of artwork, which is also in the fic, and can be found on its official post [here](http://licitoperetta.tumblr.com/post/120686451287) on tumblr!
> 
> Unbeta'd due to time constraints, I'm afraid. Will probably be additionally edited in the near future!

He gets tangled in a goddamn birdcage, bird screeching at him and wire as good as a fence, right in front of the window and _escape_ and he can hear it behind him, someone shouts his name.

A smart thief never looks back. A _good_ thief is only mostly smart and the rest is all instinct, and it's not like Montparnasse can leap through a fucking cage. He heaves out a frustrated lung's worth of air, glaring at the moonlight.

Actual smart men aren't thieves anyway.

The screeching bird inside stops fluttering its wings frantically, hopping forward and hooking its talons into the side of the cage, making Montparnasse lurch back to avoid getting stabbed in the face by its beak. He doesn't have _time_ anyway, and behind him he hears it - rough shouting, and a choked cry, and Claquesous' body hitting the floor.

Montparnasse has nowhere to go unless he manages to move a huge birdcage.

Montparnasse is going to die.

God, that is _shit_ , he doesn't want to and he keeps scrounging through the bedroom - probably a kid's bedroom, _way_ into birds, pictures all over and the birdcage in the window.

But it's a chirp, a _caw_ , and a bird fluttering its way towards him, and Montparnasse hears a voice in his head say, _You help me, and I'll help you._

Death has a way of making you hallucinate, he figures.

It's not until everything _drops_ , until it's like fainting without dropping, and he's in darkness, and there's that fucking bird, right in front of him, still in the cage.

There's a _thud_ in the world, in the _nothing_ , and Montparnasse says, "The hell?"

"Let's make a deal," the bird says.

In a world of black, it's just him and the caged bird and the _thud, thud, thud_ , either someone slamming on the door or his own heartbeat.

"A deal with a bird," Montparnasse states. "You're shitting me."

"It's either me or you get killed by the bastard who caught me," the bird says. It's a _bird_ , and it's talking, feet clinging to the bars of its cage. "And I want _out_. I get out, you get out. And we go from there."

"Go where?" Montparnasse asks.

The bird makes a noise that sounds more like a sinister laugh than a bird's call. "Where indeed?"

"Yeah, fuck that, either tell me or I kill the little bird, take you down with me," Montparnasse says, and ignores the _I'm negotiating with a fucking bird_ part.

"I really don't know," the bird says, and gets two flits of a wing before it hits the top of the cage. "I don't know what you want, or what I want, or anything beyond that we both want out of that room. You get me out of the cage, I'll get us out of the room. Deal?"

This is the most ridiculous thing Montparnasse has ever done in a pretty ridiculous life, but he groans, and says, "Deal, bird."

"It's Crest," the bird says. "And I'm a blue jay."

"I don't really give a shit," Montparnasse says.

"You should," Crest the blue jay says, nice and matter-of-fact, and there's the _thud, thud, thud_ , and

Montparnasse breathes out, exactly where he was, no time passed, still tossing shit around trying to find a way out, and what the hell? Why not?

He stumbles his way through the wreckage until he gets to the cage, just in time for the door to get bashed open, and the blue jay is screeching, picking at the lock on its cage door (why is it locked? who locks a goddamn _birdcage?_ ), and Montparnasse doesn't bother with finesse. He gets his fingers in the cage, ignoring the lock, because it's easier to just lift it out of its hinges, and _pull_ , up and out -

"I'm going to kill you, you lousy thief!" his mark shouts, coming towards him with a very big knife -

and the blue jay shoots out the cage the second the door's open.

Montparnasse is about to be really pissed off about the fact he's dying because he opened a birdcage, but then the blue jay (Crest, his mind helpfully provides) latches on to the shoulder of his shirt.

And he's airborne.

The tiny fucking bird is lifting him like he's nothing but an acorn, zipping past his mark, into the hall, and Montparnasse shrieks like a scared little baby as they go tearing through the hall (and past Claquesous' dead body) and out the still-open back door.

There's a lot of _weirdest_ parts about this, but the one that becomes most obvious is nobody's noticing this whole bird airlift thing as Crest flies him off another few streets, landing him in an alley. The bird stays hooked onto his shoulder, head tilting in that bird way.

"Alright then," Montparnasse says (because what else do you say?) and somehow manages to walk back to his hideout, Crest riding along the whole way.

 

He knows there's people who can...do shit, impossible stuff with animals or metals or fire or something. But nobody knows how it works, or what they can do, or _anything_ about it. Apparently you just have to stumble across a magic bird, if Montparnasse's life experience is the normal way you do this.

"So thieving would be a lot easier if I have a magic bird around," Montparnasse tells Crest, who is a he and also perched on an empty chair Montparnasse isn't thinking about right now. Montparnasse bought him some seeds, because he was thinking maybe you're supposed to do some kind of ritual blood sacrifice or something but the bird made an unpleasant noise at that, so bird food it is. "I don't know what it is that - I don't know how this works, bird. But if you help out, I'll...I don't know. What does a bird want?"

After a second, Crest flits his way over to start poking at some of Montparnasse's most sparkly necklaces, hanging off a peg in the busted up plaster wall.

"Oh hell yes," Montparnasse says with a vicious grin, because it really can't get better than _shiny expensive things_ for the price of a magic bird. That's like having cake, eating it, and getting paid in diamonds for his valuable time.

 

It's a fanfuckingtastic life where you break into a jewelry store with a magic bird that flits around grabbing its favorite shinies and using you as a pack horse with opposable thumbs and nimble fingers. It's great. His life is everything he ever hoped it would be.

Except that second chair stays empty.

The hideout is empty. The only sounds are Montparnasse and Crest flitting around the rooms.

Crest makes himself a nest on the seat and Montparnasse doesn't say a word about it. Not that Crest talks, either. Not with words. There's plenty of communication, but nothing like whatever that was the first time, when they met.

At least, not until a month has passed since they joined up.

One second, Montparnasse is walking down the street with Crest on his shoulder, and the next thing he knows, he's stepping into that _nothingness_ again.

It's pitch black, and this time it's dead silent.

Dead silent except for Crest going, "Oh shit."

Out of nowhere, a booming voice roars down at them, "Crest That Is Very Blue And Has A Bit Of A Twist On The Feathers On The Left But Not On The Right That Part Is Mostly Normal, what the hell do you think you're doing!"

"Good strong name, there," Montparasse comments.

"I can explain," Crest (etc etc etc) says quickly, and moves to flit off of Montparnasse's shoulder, but his wing just smacks Montparnasse in the ear, no lift at all. "It's not what it looks like!"

"It looks like you partnered up with a human for the love of shiny things!" the booming voice shouts.

"He's got you there," Montparnasse says.

"And you picked _this_ human?" the voice demands.

Crest shifts, awkward. "He's practically a blue jay already."

The voice scoffs. "Oh? He's willing to steal other birds' nests, and mimic their calls, and-"

"Pretty much, yes," Crest says, and Montparnasse nods, because all of these things are very true. "He's not like normal humans. There's a reason I stuck around him! He's like a really big blue jay, _with hands_."

There's a considering noise, and then a _whoosh_ of air, and Montparnasse squeezes his eyes shut in an effort to stay any kind of okay in the massive gust of wind.

When he opens his eyes, there's an absolutely massive blue jay peeking down at him, scrutinizing him at the end of a long beak. And it's big as in building-sized massive. As in Crest's _oh shit_ makes a hell of a lot of sense.

"He doesn't know what he is," the gigantic bird says.

"Are we getting metaphysical now?" Montparnasse asks.

The gigantic bird makes an amused noise, which is a score in any book. "Fine, Crest That Is Very Blue And Has-"

"We know who he is, save us some time," Montparnasse says. "Places to go, diamonds to steal. What's the verdict?"

"The verdict, little... _person_ , is that Crest doesn't get to have his own personal pet. That's not how things work. Not unless you both want to turn into one bird-human hybrid," the giant bird says, and raises its head with a sigh. "No, I'm afraid he'll have to share."

"Aw, Mom, come on," Crest whines, and that makes so much more sense.

And that's how Montparnasse ends up with an entire party of magic blue jays in his hideout.

 

Crest's little chairside nest of shinies is quickly overtaken by more and more birds, leaving Crest perched on Montparnasse's shoulder far more often than they'd prefer. It wasn't ever that big of a place, cramped even when he wasn't - when there were more occupants. When he didn't have _fucking_ birds everywhere.

"This isn't what I signed up for," he hisses at Crest when one of the younger jays decides to get curious about his closet, which is _off limits_ , damn it. Crest tilts his head and makes a low cawing noise that Montparnasse knows is agreement. "Tell your giant mama to shove it. I'm not doing this."

Every single bird stops birding around, in a terrifying single twist that leaves every beak pointed towards Montparnasse.

"Or I am," Montparnasse says, holding his hands up in surrender because he's seen these things rip into nuts and acorns and the outer shells of bugs and, on one occasion, an unlucky little sparrow that managed to piss his party off.

And this is that whole _deal with the devil_ thing, obviously, because the swarm of blue and white and black and cawing at all hours is just the start of it. Ever since Mama Blue Jay made her appearance in the nowhere space, Montparnasse hasn't felt so much like a cunning thief. It's more errand boy. More of a dog with a fucking bird saying _fetch_ and Montparnasse runs along to grab the shiny of the day.

This isn't to say that he dislikes stealing shiny things. He _loves it_. He's just not so good at the ordering around part. With Crest - _just_ Crest - it was a duo. It was like having a partnership. It was...it was different. Now there are times he has trouble picking his partner out when they're all lined up on top of his headboard like a firing squad.

Now, he is incapable of ignoring the fact he's probably kind of sold his soul to birds.

At least they kind of clean up after themselves. Apparently magic birds know not to shit where they eat. Or not where _he_ eats, at least.

He makes himself a cup of tea and glares at Crest, perched on the wooden chair across the table. Crest is always filling in the second chairs. Another blue jay, which he's been informed is named a female named Greyplume via a rare and creepy burst of bird telepathy, has taken to occupying the chairs with Crest. Or the third chair.

There are four chairs.

Montparnasse does not think about there being four chairs.

Point is, Greyplume is a dick and trying to weasel her way into his good graces for some reason. Since they're _birds_ , this occasionally means she drops worms and bugs in his lap.

And it means Greyplume _wants something_ , because Montparnasse is so welcome into the magic blue jay family because it's like Crest said - he's one of them. They're all natural assholes.

( _But it's a choice for humans_ , Montparnasse will find himself thinking when the flutter of wings above his head keeps him awake.)

Montparnasse figures out what Greyplume wants one yet another bird-accompanied walk through the streets, Crest flitting across chimneys while Greyplume does her best to nonchalantly herd Montparnasse down a street. They can't do the super-lift thing if he's not willing to have them do it, for some reason, like he has to _accept_ whatever magic shit they want to do, so Greyplume has to convince Montparnasse to obey.

[](http://licitoperetta.tumblr.com/post/120686451287)

He obeys her all the way to a church.

It's a small church in a poor neighborhood, and it's a little bit busted, but obviously well-loved. She flits her way up through a jay-sized hole in the wall, and it's with a long sigh that Montparnasse follows by way of the human-appropriate double doors.

With a long, high squeal, they open. The one on the right is nice and smooth, but the left is stubborn, and Montparnasse thinks maybe a one door entrance would be wiser. But, it wouldn't be as fun.

The interior is lit only by sunlight through the high windows, the colored panes turning the floor into a loud quilt of light, no shapes, just shades. It makes Montparnasse feel like it's some kind of sacrilegious hopscotch over to the altar where Greyplume has perched on the sparkly gold cross.

"You want a cross?" Montparnasse asks, incredulous.

Greyplume whistles her confirmation, pecking at one of the jewels set in the center.

"But what are you gonna do with a _cross_ though? Everything else I get. Shiny sparkly nests and things to mess around with and shit. But this is..." Montparnasse looks around the church. The altar is the only spot with any kind of wealth.

And Montparnasse isn't a _bad_ guy. He doesn't steal from poor people, although that's mostly because they don't have any good shit to steal. He doesn't kick people when they're down. Not unless they _deserve_ it. And the tiny church has nothing but this thing.

Greyplume just keeps pecking at it, starting to flutter her wings at him, obviously getting pissed at him because Montparnasse isn't being her walking talking crane, ready to hoist things up and carry them off.

"I usually don't allow birds into the church, but yours seems to have made itself quite at home," the inevitable priest says, strolling and smiling his way through the double doors, shutting them behind him. "What brings you in, young man?"

"Bird wants me to steal your cross," Montparnasse says.

He expects the priest to...hell, he doesn't know what he expects. But it wasn't the priest tensing, and glancing quickly between Greyplume and Montparnasse, and then looking up at the big crucified Jesus set into the front of the church. He says, "You were a religious man once, I take it."

"Nah," Montparnasse says.

"Then your test will be something far more difficult," the priest says, and gives Montparnasse a sympathetic look, not quite pity but not quite concern. "But as things stand, I'd request you not listen to your...companion, and instead leave empty-handed."

Montparnasse frowns. "Why should I?"

"Because it's the right thing to do," the priest says earnestly.

"I'm not a _do the right thing_ kind of guy," Montparnasse says, grabs the cross, and lets Greyplume hook her talons into his shoulder and sweep him off his feet. The priest makes a desperate noise, but all he can see is the bird (because that's how it works, apparently), and Montparnasse drifts off into the air.

He sticks Greyplume's cross on the mantle, and she perches on it all day and all night.

It's one less head staring down at him in the night.

 

Seasons change. His wardrobe changes. He wonders if he's becoming a weird cat lady but with birds. He never does anything about it - he keeps thieving, keeps grinning, keeps living with blue jays and magic and an ever-expanding array of gold and silver and jewels, filigree against his fingertips whenever he touches his mirror's frame.

Montparnasse spends a lot of time talking to birds. There's no words answering him back. A lot of times, he doesn't use words to talk to the blue jays.

It leaves him in complete shock when Eponine appears.

Her hair is frazzled from the rain and humidity, clothes are torn and soggy, eyes are wide and frantic, and she jumps right into Montparnasse when she rounds the city street and ends up in his corner. "They're just a street over, I need to hide," she says quickly.

There's the flutter of wings in the air, streaks of blue and white in his peripheral vision, but Montparnasse grabs her and they make their way like a stumbling drunk couple back to his place.

He doesn't realize how long it's been until Eponine is shaking the rain out of her hair, saying, "Thanks. I know you've probably got an ulterior motive, but thanks."

"Who's chasing you?" Montparnasse asks. His voice sounds odd. Creaky. Chirpy.

Eponine gives him a weird look. "A bad choice of mark."

He remembers that fear, that desperate need to _survive_ , hearing Claquesous fall and die. He hasn't thought of it in ages.

Crest and Greyplume are perched on the cross, and the other four (Breeze, Lowsong, Fletching, and Talon) are spread throughout, hanging in the rafters, _waiting_.

"Need anything else?" Montparnasse asks.

Eponine glances around the room, eyes lingering on the all-encompassing glitz, the shine and sparkle on every available surface, like a treasure hoard designed for easy living. Her eyebrows raise, a subtle smirk coming to her lips. "Well. If you wanted to partner up-"

An unholy shriek of noise comes out of every single bird, six tiny lungs protesting at full volume. Crest goes so far as to fly over and perch on his shoulder, poking him in the cheek with his beak.

"What the hell?" Eponine asks, eyes wide, and whirls, staring at the blue jays like she hadn't noticed them until now. She looks from the birds, to Montparnasse, and looks _worried_. "Oh god, Montparnasse, what did you do?"

"So I have magic birds now," Montparnasse says, as casually as possible. "We steal shit. It's a pretty good set up."

"I am not getting involved in this," Eponine says. There's fear in her voice. Fear, from _Eponine_ , the toughest and most courageous and amazing human he's ever had the privilege of meeting. She hesitates, but looks Montparnasse firmly in the eye. "And you shouldn't be either. I'd been wondering where you went. A lot of us thought you died along with Claquesous. But - do you even know how long it's been since I last saw you?"

"Four months?" Montparnasse attempts, but that's wrong. It just feels that long.

"Over a year," Eponine says. When she steps towards him, the birds screech again, but Eponine is bravery made human, so she barely flinches. She grabs Montparnasse's shirt, looking sharply into his eyes. "This bargaining shit, this dealing with magical stuff, it's never good. It eats at your mind and your soul and what is _you_ becomes _theirs_ and-"

"I'm _fine_ ," Montparnasse says over the din of angry blue jays.

But Eponine knows he's lying.

She touches his face, and Montparnasse _shudders_ , has to grab on to one of the necklace-covered chairs and hold on at the overwhelming _feeling_ , the unusual sensation of human touch.

"You need to leave the birds while you still can," Eponine says. "While you're still _human_."

(Montparnasse remembers Crest saying, _He's practically a blue jay already_.)

He has no idea what he's doing.

But, Montparnasse looks away from her stunning eyes, looks at the impossible hoard of beautiful _treasure_. The sparkle. The shimmer. The ability to grumble about how hard precious stones are when you accidentally sit on one.

Crest is quiet on his shoulder, but the tense flutter of his wings brushes Montparnasse's cheek - and _that_ is familiar. It's worlds away from the feel of Eponine's fingertips.

He hasn't seen Eponine in over a year, and didn't even notice.

Because his life is fucking _amazing_.

Montparnasse feels like something just went _snap_ inside of him. It's the last log in the dam breaking in half, and the deluge of unbearable _glee_ floods inside of him, leaving him grinning at Eponine.

_Finally_ , Crest says, full of exasperated fondness.

Eponine's hand jerks away from him, and she steps back with wide eyes.

"Thanks, but no thanks," Montparnasse says, and his birds take wing. Eponine quickly backs away, because Montparnasse is _laughing_ , can't _stop_ , and the sound is changing.

His band starts through his window - first Fletching, with a firm pump of her wings, and then Lowsong and Talon as tightly together as possible, and by the time Breeze is on her way out, Montparnasse is crouched on the windowsill, Greyplume harrying Eponine like the asshole she is while Crest sits on the roof, and waits.

Montparnasse doesn't disappoint.

_He's practically a blue jay already_ , Crest had said.

One step, and then a second step, and Montparnasse thinks of feathers against his cheek, and feathers on his skin, on his _wings_ , twisting to meet Crest in a frantic leap into open air, the ground both closer and so much more distant when he's _smaller_ , eyes impossibly sharp, and he pushes his wings, pushes down until he hits the clear air, nothing between him and the parting clouds and sky.


End file.
